


A Heist With Yip and Markiplier

by dark_brohood



Category: A Heist With Markiplier
Genre: (Courtesy of Yancy), A Musical Number, A lot of weird shit, Going to Have Most of the Endings, Heist, Interdimentional travel, Mark Dies Several Times, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sign Language, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, many times, mute character, so i guess, uh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-22 22:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21309334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_brohood/pseuds/dark_brohood
Summary: It was supposed to be simple. There was a plan, one they would follow to the letter. But something was interfering with the Heist, and Yip didn't know what it was. But they felt like they had seen Mark before, in this setting, in this time, and there was no way for them to leave.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am out of my writing funk. And yes, it's because of the brilliance that is A Heist With Markiplier. I just love it so much, I had to write a fic about it. So, here you are, a product of my imagination.

_Maybe I’ve gotten some of Mark’s flair for the dramatic_, Yip thought to themself as they hid in the leaves outside the museum, dressed in dark clothes and a grappling gun in their hand. They waited as a security guard passed, slapping his flashlight as it turned off and on, whistling to himself. When he passed, Yip hurtled the small retaining wall that ran around teh garden, and ran to the wall outside the museum.

Digging inside their pack, they pulled out a grappling hook and pushed it into the gun, looking around to make sure no other guards were around. They held the gun up high, aimed, and fired.

A second later, they were pulled up by the grappling hook, pulling them onto a balcony. They put the grappling hook into their bag and snuck to the vent not far from where they landed. They pulled off the cover and for once was glad for their small body, otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to fit into the small space.

They shimmied through the ventilation system, following the route Mark laid out for them, his map (drawn in crayon) memorised in their head.

They were also glad they were given gymnastics lessons when they were a kid, as the fall from the ventilation system to the walkway would have hurt anyone else. But that’s why Mark made them go that way.

They wondered, for a second, where he was as they stood up and looked around the museum. And then they heard a scream and a crash, and Mark fell onto the walkway showered in glass. Yip blinked in surprise, not thinking that he would actually crash through the window like they had proposed.

But he looked mostly unharmed.

“All right, we’re in,” he said, readjusting his bag at his waist. “You know the plan, right?” He let out a single chuckle. “What am I saying? You practically wrote it. Everything you need is in your bag, so let’s synchronise our watches on three.” Yip looked at the watch on their wrist and hovered their finger over the button. “Three! Perfect. Now, stick to the plan and you’ll be just fine. But if you deviate from it for even a single moment,” he said, his tone getting darker with each word as he pulled a grappling gun out of his bag, “I won’t come back for you.”

A grin erupted on his face and his tone became significantly lighter. “Okay? Good luck!” He fired the grappling gun, and he rose out of view.

It was strange, as Yip reached into their bag and pulled out a cooked steak. They don’t really remember the plan, or planning it at all. Or why there was a steak involved. They stood up, and behind them someone called out, “Hey!”

They turned around, steak in hand, to see a security guard approaching them with his gun drawn. “What do you think you’re doing?” Then he spotted the steak, and Yip spotted Mark hiding in a potted plant. How did he get there so fast?

“Oh, no!” the guard said, pointing his gun at the steak. “Not the old steak trick. I’m not falling for that twice.” Yip lowered the steak as Mark started moving the potted plant, and Yip didn’t know what exactly he was doing. The guard nodded. “Yeah, put the steak down. I’m not even going to look at the steak. I’m looking at you right in the eyes.” He glanced over at the steak, and he conceded. “I looked at the steak.”

Mark snuck up behind him, still in the potted plant, and put the guard in a choke hold. After a couple seconds he went unconscious, and fell to the floor.

They turned around, and they were in a kind of gallery. Mark was in front of them, walking backwards. “Nicely done, Yip. All according to plan. And speaking of plan,” he said, crouching down next to an exhibit contained in a glass container, pulling the plan out of his bag and looking at it.

It didn’t look like a normal plan. First off, it was drawn in crayon. And it looked more like a flow chart than anything else. And Yip had the strange feeling that they had seen it before, but also that this was the first time they were seeing it. Like they had felt as soon as they had stepped foot in the museum. Everything was familiar, and yet unfamiliar at the same time.

“Looks like we are, uh, eh, yeah. We’re moving on to phase two.” He folded the plan up and stuffed it back in his bag. “Are you ready?”

Yip nodded.

“On my go.” He looked down at his watch. “Go!”

Ever the dramatic, he rolled around the other side of the display case, stood up, and did cartwheels across the room, and Yip could faintly hear heist music play in their head. He rounded the next display case and pointed at the entrance into the room. “Behind you. Behind you.”

Yip moved to the next display case over, hiding behind the white base as the whistling guard entered the room.

“He tracks the intruder,” the guard said, like he was playing out a fantasy where he was a guard in the middle of a heist (which he was, he just didn’t know it), “quiet as a ninja suppressing a fart in church.”

Yip was glad they couldn’t laugh properly, them being mute and all, because _what the hell is that analogy?_ They’d never heard it before, and why was a ninja in church anyway?

The guard let out two laughs as he padded across the room. “There she is. Three-legged woman, got you now. Oh, this? It’s just my gun. You’re safe with me, ma’am.”

Yip looked down to see a baseball on the floor at their feet, and after wondering for a split second how long it had been there, they picked it up and threw it out of the room, through the entrance the guard had come in.

The guard screamed, and drew his gun. “I mean, who’s there?” He ran back across the room, and out of it. “Come back!”

They turned around to look at Mark, and found themself in another exhibit, this one with what looked like laundry in the middle of it. They blinked at the sudden change of scenery.

Mark was on the other side of the room, and poked his body out from behind a display case. He put up his thumbs at him. “Great job, buddy. I’ll meet you over there.”

He ducked back behind the display case, then jumped out and landed on his face. Yip watched as he somehow slid across the floor with seemingly no way for him to move, disappearing behind another display case and then flipping to the next display case.

“All right,” he said, leading the way out of the room. “We’re almost to the vault. Come on. Stay low and stay quiet.”

Yip looked over their shoulder to make sure there was no one following them, and turned back around to find herself in the main gallery, near the vault, Mark leading the way onto a giant chessboard set up for kids to play with.

“Come on, this way,” Mark said, picking up a white bishop. “We’re almost there. Checkmate.” He placed it down in front of one of the black pawns, and Yip wanted to tell him that that’s not how you play chess. “Okay. Oh, I can almost taste it.”

Something beeped, and the vault door opened. Mark pulled Yip behind a pillar, and they watched together as two guards came out of the vault.

“You wanna know my favourite thing about this vault?” the first guard said, turning and stopping in front of one of the two green pads that were on either side of the door.

“Go on.”

“You need two keys.”

The second guard went to the second pad. “One for you, one for me.”

“Okay, here we go.”

They grabbed the keys in the pads. “Ready? One, two, three.”

“Security!” they said at the same time, one of them fist bumping the air.

They pulled the keys out of the pads and separated, going two different directions. Mark and Yip went around the pillar to make sure they weren’t seen by the guards.

“Oh, crap. Oh, crap,” Mark muttered when the guards had left the room. He led the way to the vault door. “This wasn’t in the plans. There are two keys for this vault. We need to get them from those guards or any guards that are moderately less competent than those.” He pulled his grappling gun from his bag. “Why don’t you go back the way we came and why don’t I have a little bit of a chat with that guard over there. Be back in a flash.”

He shot the gun, and he rose up to the walkway above them.

Yip turned around and started looking around for a guard they could steal a key from when they heard a clang and a a scream, and turned around just in time to see Mark fall onto a pile of boxes. He climbed out of them and grinned at Yip, unharmed.

“Be back in a flash.” He gave them finger guns, and left.

It was a second later that, after Yip turned around, they heard loud snarling and saw a large shadow of a snout in a circle of light projected onto the wall. Fear went through their veins, and they took a step back in fear.

Then they looked down and saw a dog wearing a security uniform, a set of keys to the vault hanging off the side of the vest. Yip pulled the piece of steak out of their bag and gave it to the dog, grabbing the keys as they did so. As soon as the keys were off the vest, the meat in her mouth, the dog ran off deeper into the museum.

There was another crack and scream, and Yip turned around to see Mark falling from the walkway above them again. They just gave him a look as he climbed out of them, wielding a of key. Yip held up the one they got from the dog.

“Oh, you got a key,” he said. He held up his key and grinned. “I got one, too. Come on. I think these are what we need to get in that vault.”

They made their way to the vault, standing on each side of it, and inserted the keys.

“Oh, this is it. You ready? Now on three. One–”

Yip turned the key, causing it to buzz.

Mark gave them a look. “What the hell? Ah, whatever.” He turned his key, and the double doors of the vault shuddered.

“After you,” Mark said, who was too busy being very gleeful at the moment.

Yip was also very excited. They’d been planning this heist for years. (They think. They still haven’t figured that out.)

They pushed the doors open, and their eyes widened with excitement and wonder as they entered the vault. It was comically large for holding only a single thing on a podium, glass around it. Yip stared at the box encased in glass with a grin on their face as Mark passed her and pulled a glass cutter out of his bag.

“Oh, this is it. This is really it.”

He placed the cutter on the glass, and made a circle with it. Then he pulled the glass off the podium, exposing the ancient box to the air.

Yip moved their hands, signing words they knew he would understand: _The glass wasn’t connected to the podium?_

He nodded, throwing the glass box over his shoulder. It crashed against the wall and shattered on the ground.

Honestly, Yip was surprised no guards had found them yet. They were being everything but quiet.

“This is what we’ve been working towards all those years,” he said, looking at them. (So it had been years.) “It’s finally ours.”

He grasped it carefully, a look of ecstasy on his face as he pulled it off the podium. As he did, it seemed to… glitch, was the word that best described it. Three other boxes, transparent and buggy, jumped out of it. One blue, one red, one green. Only for a second, and then it was normal, like it hadn’t even happened. And Mark didn’t act like he noticed it, though he wasn’t exactly looking at it.

“This is gonna change our lives forever.”

(Yip knew, somehow, that those were the truest words he’d ever said.)

The alarms inside the vault started blaring, and Mark jumped slightly.

“Ah, crap. Um, it’s fine. Uh, this is why we plan.” He put the box inside his bag. “Oh! Okay, I see two ways out of here. There just so happens to be a sewer that runs directly beneath this vault.”

Yip looked over at where he motioned to, and there was, in fact, a sewer grate set into the floor a metre away from them. They wondered when that got there, as they didn’t see it when they entered the vault. (Looking back it hadn’t, but they wouldn’t know that for a while.)

“I suppose we could’ve gone in that way, but that doesn’t matter. We could either go through the sewer all sneaky like, or,” he said, reaching into his bag, “we could go out guns blazing.”

He pulled a flintlock pistol and a lit bomb out of the bag. Yip didn’t even wanna know.

“Yeah, Ifound these bad boys in the pirate exhibit on the way over here, but we gotta choose fast. I think they’re on their way, and they’re not gonna be friendly when we’re in here with the box and the bomb and gun. So, either one’s good. Sewer will probably work all quiet like, but, you know, I like a little action. But stealth is good, too.”

Yip signed, and a grin spread across his face.


	2. Chapter Two

Yip held their hand in a gun symbol, their thumb pressing down on their fingers twice, then put their hands together in an infinity sign before spreading them out in an explosion. _Guns blazing_, they signed, and Mark was obviously glad they did, as a grin spread across his face, laughing sinisterly under his breath.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, and shouted, “Fire in the–” He cleared his throat and said whispered it. “Fire in the hole.”

He threw the bomb at the door, which had closed behind them. He looked at Yip, playing with the flintlock pistol. “Now, if I know my medieval weaponry, we probably got about fifteen seconds before that puppy blows. So, when it does, I’ll dash right–”

He was interrupted by the bomb exploding, sending the door and bits of the wall around it flying. Yip felt the heat on their skin, singing the ends of their short blue hair, and was thrown off their feet.

Mark pulled them to their feet and dragged them out of the vault, their ear ringing. They got their bearings and staggered behind him, coughing through the smoke, the alarm still ringing. He pulled the plan out of his bag, turning around and around to try and find the way out of the museum. He stuck his finger (still gloved) in his mouth and pulled it out, like he was testing to see which way the wind was coming from, and turned around again and pointed at a nearby door with fireworks leaning on the walls next to it.

“Ooh, right in here,” he said, and opened the door.

Yip paused at the door, reading the signs that told them that there was to be no running, no shouting, and absolutely _no_ gunfire, but they didn’t get to read the entire door when Mark told them to come on.

It was dark inside the room, and Yip heard Mark rustling around.

“Now where’s the light? Uh, is this it?”

The lights in the room turned on, and Yip and Mark blinked at the brightness. Mark chuckled softly at them before turning around to face the room, and gasped.

Yip turned too, though they couldn’t see properly as there was soot covering their glasses. They pulled them off, cleaned them off using the bottom of their shirt, and put them back on–to see the room was _filled_ with explosives.

They looked back at Mark, who was panicking slightly. “This is fine. All we gotta do is be really, really careful and really really quiet as we get to the exit on the other side of this room. And then,” he clicked his tongue and gave them finger guns, “we’ll be home free.”

They got one step when a guard spoke.

“Hey, I think they might be in here.”

Mark looked worried. “Maybe they didn’t mean in _here_.”

They got two more steps when the guard said, “I was right! They _are_ in here!”

“Run!”

Yip and Mark ran across the room, dodging bullets the guards were shooting at them. They somehow managed to not get hit, but as they left through the side entrance, Yip looked over their shoulder to see there were dozens of bullet holes in the fireworks and bombs and gunpowder barrels scattered throughout the room.

Outside, they ran towards the short retaining wall that bordered the gardens and vaulted over it, bracing themselves against it, waiting for the explosion. After a couple seconds, the gunfire dying down, the alarms still blaring, nothing happened.

Mark poked his head above the retaining wall. “Oh, okay. Well, yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. I guess ancient gunpowder would be… ancient. Anyway, we should be going.”

Mark stood up, and Yip followed, walking through the garden. “They’ve got to be still on our tail, so quickly, through here.”

He pushed his way through two large bushes, and when Yip followed they found themself in the middle of a field. (How did they get there so quickly?)

“Okay, we’re safe for now,” Mark said, but we’re not out of the woods. “What we need is a vehicle to get us back to base safely and quietly.” He started turning in a circle. “So, keep your eyes out for–woah!”

Yip looked to the side to see a helicopter and a red jeep sitting in the field, in different directions. Mark ran out in front of them, one on either side of him, and turned to look at Yip. “Okay. This could be perfect! We’ve got a helicopter and some kind of, uh, car. Either one will be good, but I think that one flies,” he said, pointing at the helicopter, then pointing at the car, “and that one drives… probably. So, maybe that one,” he pointed at the helicopter, “will be quicker, but maybe louder. I don’t think we want that.” He pointed at the car. “That one could be slower, but quieter. That seems like a really stealthy vehicle. but the bright red kind of gives it away, but I’ll leave this one up to you.”

Sirens started getting closer and closer.

“I mean, I can’t make these choices. I’m crippled with indecision, so you gotta do it for me.”

Yip signed the word ‘helicopter’, a grin on their face, and the same grin spread over his, the sirens wailing in the distance. “Oh, hell, yeah. All right, come on. They might still be on our tail, so we gotta get in, get up, and then get out. Oh, and we are going to be getting out in style.”

He opened the door of the helicopter for Yip, who stared at the console in pure glee. They’d never been in a helicopter (they think) or even been this close to one (maybe, they couldn’t remember), and they were so excited to fly in one. They only hoped Mark could fly one, because they couldn’t.

Mark rounded the helicopter and climbed into the seat. Yip climbed in, too, savouring the joy they felt inside them.

“Woah! Look at this thing!” he said. “It’s so cool! Well come on! Do the thing with the–you got the key, right? And, uh–”

_I can’t fly a helicopter_, Yip signed, the joy quickly being replaced with panic.

Dread filled Mark’s face. “What, you don’t know how to fly a helicopter? Well, then why did you pick a helicopter if you didn’t know how to-”

“-fly it?” Yip jumped, looking around at their surrounding. They weren’t in a helicopter in the middle of a field anymore. No, they were in a prison, surrounded by prisoners, Mark wearing prison garb. They looked down to see that they were always wearing the black and white striped outfit, though it was just the pants. They were wearing a loose white tee, with the prison jumper tied around their waist. There was also a whiteboard in her hand, a black marker stuck to it with a magnet.

(They didn’t know how they got there, or how they were wearing the prison garb. All they remembered was the helicopter.)

“And now we’re here,” Mark continued. “With these people. In prison. I don’t belong here. Maybe you belong here.”

“One Mr Mark-eye-plier,” a woman called, and Yip turned around to see a guard standing in an office with an open window, a box full of items in front of her.

“Oh, officer. It’s ‘Iplier’, actually. And I’m innocent.”

Yip scoffed. Well, as much as they could. They couldn’t make many sounds with their mouths since their larynx was removed as a kid. (At least, that’s what they remember.)

“And one Yip Con–”

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” a voice said, and Yip turned around to a balding man with hair like Homer Simpson come towards then, speaking in a very southern accident. “So nice of y’all to join us here at Happy Trails Penitentiary. Y’all lok a little nervous. There’s no need. In this place, we believe in rehabilitation over punishment.” For a second, his face went very serious, and Yip was sure they heard a beat when he said ‘punishment’. The smile returned to his face. “I think you’re gonna like it here. Let’s say we speed things up a bit, shall we?”

“Yes, Mr Murder-Slaughter,” the guard said. “We have one wallet, one non-brand phone, a stick of gum, and some string. One sixteenth century flintlock pistol likely used by pirates for boarding actions.”

Mr Murder-Slaughter looked confused for a second.

“Uh, one map, drawn out of what appears to be crayon.”

Yip glanced over at Mark, who shrugged.

“And a weird-ass box.”

She held up the two thousand year old artefact Mark and Yip had just stolen from the museum earlier that day. Mr Murder-Slaughter looked at it with curiosity.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” he asked, taking the box from her. “I think I’m gonna hold on to this for safe keeping.”

“Actually, that’s my box,” Mark said, reaching out and trying to take it from Mr Murder-Slaughter. The guard pressed his baton against mark’s neck, causing him to choke out his next words. “I could use it for a lot of things.”

“You two enjoy your stay.”

“But that’s my–”

The guard threw Mark into Yip, their heads colliding. And when they separated, both of them rubbing their heads, they were in another part of the prison.

“Okay. All right, well, we are in the thick of it now. But don’t you worry ‘cause we’ve been through worse. Oh, yeah. And I think we’re gonna get out of this just fine this time, too. Oof.”

He turned around, and collided with a man that had his head tattooed with a spiderweb, and was about a head taller than him. (Not that it’s hard, Mark was the same height as Yip and they were small.) A crunching sound happened when their shoulders collided, and the man glared at them as he continued past.

“Hi. Hello. Rude. Okay, um…” He started looking around, seeing if he could find a way out. “Much like every choice I have ever seen in my life, I see two ways out of here. Either we cozy up to the guards over there or we try to rally the prisoners to our cause. I don’t know which would be the best choice. What do you think?”

After Yip took a couple seconds too long to think (Why did he always make them choose? And why were there always two options?), he said, “Come on, I mean, the guards, they look pretty dumb. And those prisoners, they look even dumber, so maybe either/or at this point. With my smarts and your–whatever you have–we’ll be–we’ll be good.”

Mildly offended that after years of planning the heist with him, he didn’t know what they could do, Yip signed the word for ‘guard’.

“I was thinking the same thing,” he said, and slowly led the way to the guard that was standing by the entrance into the kitchen, the same guard that had choked him just a minute earlier. “So, all we got to do is get ourselves a job and then slowly work ourselves up to a position of power and trust with the guards and, boom, we’ll be home free. Oh, hi. Hello, Officer.”

The officer looked very threatening, and Yip was starting to regret choosing to charm the guards instead of rallying the prisoners.

Mark pretended to wipe his hand on the officer’s badge and placed it on his shoulder. “How are you doing? You look lovely today.” He took his hand off the guard’s shoulder and clasped them together in front of him. “Hey, I was wondering if maybe we could possibly maybe, um, get a job in the kitchen?”

“A job?!” the officer snarled, and Yip took a step back. He stared at Mark for a couple seconds, before a smile spread over his face and his tone lightened significantly. “You know, there’s something about you that always makes me trust you. I can’t put my itchy trigger finer on it, but I like you. Here,” he reached behind the kitchen counter and pulled out two aprons, throwing them at Mark, “take these aprons. You got yourself a job.”

“Oh, great!”

The officer tapped Mark’s butt with the end of his baton. “Get that cute little butt in there, huh?”

“Okay, thank you.”

Both of them went behind the counter and was ushered into the kitchen by another prisoner, and when they did both Mark and Yip were suddenly in the aprons.

“All right, well, he didn’t tell us exactly what to do, so, um…”

He walked up to the sink, grabbing a bunch of dirty plates, and threw them into the soapy water. The bubbles burst up and landed on the man that was already at the sink, and he slowly turned to Mark. Yip blinked, because it was the same guy that had just been outside, and there was no way he could get in there and change _that fast_.

And he looked like he was going to strangle someone. Instead, he smiled at Mark. “Wow. I really admire both your work ethic. You and you,” he pointed at Mark and then Yip, “truly are an inspiration to all the other prisoners.” He reached into the next sink over and pulled out two smocks, shoving them into Mark’s chest. “I’m promoting you to laundry duty. Take these smocks.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Mark said, and Yip wrote out thank you on their whiteboard. “We’re honoured. I’m flattered.”

“_Vaya con dios!_” the man said as they walked away and headed to the laundry.

“Oh, goodbye,” Mark told him. He whispered to Yip, “This is going great. We’re gonna make it.”

They walked through the door out of the kitchen, immediately back into the room, only this time there was laundry handing on wires and the same man was folding clothes. Yip did a double-take as when they looked out of the door, they were in a completely different room. Mark didn’t seem to notice, though.

(He didn’t seem to notice a lot of things Yip did.)

“Okay, well, he didn’t actually tell us what we were supposed to do, so I guess we just gotta guess. Oh, maybe we…” Mark picked up a pile of dirty clothes and threw them into the sink, and the man turned to him with a grin on his face.

“Goodness gracious,” he said, startling Mark. “My dreary days were filled with sadness and despair until I saw how hard you two were workin’.”

(Yip wanted to tell him they had done nothing, but didn’t. He obviously seemed to think they did.)

He placed a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “I think I might actually be in love with you.”

“Oh,” Mark said, both of them feeling incredibly weird. “Well, we are flattered, sir.”

“I am, too. I’m a-hearby promotin’ the two of you to cleanin’ duty, startin’ with the warden’s very own office. Here,” he gave Mark two pinafores and feather dusters, “take these pinafores and these dusters.”

“Well, that’s right kind of you, sir.”

“Every day that I don’t see your smilin’ and pretty faces is one step closer to my grave.”

Mark started to slowly step away, getting creeped out by the man that was expressing his love to them. “Oh, um, well, thank you. That means the world to us.”

“My pleasure.”

Mark led the way to the warden’s office. “Okay, weird as that was, we made it. The warden’s office. This is our key to the top. You first.”

He opened the door, and Yip stepped into the warden’s office, wearing the pinafore, feather duster in hand, their whiteboard in the other. Mark came in after them, and the warden, Mr Murder-Slaughter, lowered the newspaper he was reading. Looking around the room, Yip saw the box was in a cabinet in the corner, several plants around the places, and a certificate on his desk proclaiming him ‘Warden of the Year’.

“Oh, there you are,” Mr Murder-Slaughter said. “Come on in.” He threw the newspaper on his desk and stood up. “I been hearin’ very good things about the two of you.”

“Oh, that’s so wonderful,” Mark said. Yip nodded in agreement, planting the friendliest smile they could on their face. “And you were right, Mr Murder-Slaughter, this place is the best. And we feel exceptionally rehabilitated.”

Mr Murder-Slaughter laughed. “I knew it! I knew it.” He slapped the desk, making it crack. Yip looked down at the table in concern. “That is the Happy Trails way.”

“Well, I mean, if I could ask a favour,” Mark said. “Since we’re here and since we’ve been such beacons of good behaviour, if it would be possible, maybe, just possibly, could we hold onto that special box? It’s a family heirloom, and it would mean the world to have with us at night.”

Mr Murder-Slaughter nodded slightly, and Yip raised their feather duster and ran it over his face. The smile stayed on his face, and they thought that maybe he would give it to them.

“Absolutely not!”

They were suddenly in a cell, brick wall behind the warden, bars separating him from Yip and Mark. What really concerned them, though, was that his desk was _also_ in the hallway, the box resting on the top of it.

“Now, you may have impressed us with your admirable work ethic, but we have very strict rules when it comes to personal possessions,” Mr Murder-Slaughter said, tapping the top of the ancient box. “And we won’t bend them for anyone!” He hit his desk again, making it crack more. “Now,” he said, standing up straight and buttoning his blazer, the buzzer saying the door to that part of the prison was opening buzzing, “if you two fine folks will excuse me, I have a uh..” he grabbed the box and smiled down at it seductively, rubbing it. When he saw them watching he cleared his throat, “ahem, dinner to attend to. Good day.”

He picked up the box and left the cells, leaving his desk in the middle of the hallway.

(Yip wondered how it even got there.)

“Well that was a complete waste of time,” Mark said, pulling off his pinafore and throwing it on the top bunk. Yip did the same, and turned to the cell. Apart from the beds and toilet, it was completely empty. He sighed. “All right, we can still find a way out of here, but we gotta get our hands on that box. So be on the lookout for an exploit to take advantage of or maybe, like, a crack in the wall… Or…” He stopped talking, getting an epiphany.

He knelt on the ground and started knocking. “Concrete, topsoil, clay, lime. Yeah, we could dig our way out of here. I have a master’s degree in digging. I won second place at nationals. I was so close to first, but that’s not the problem here. Unless you see another way, I think this is our best bet.”

Yip had stopped paying attention, though. There was a light coming through a gap in the wall the toilet rested against, like the wall opened up or something. Mark noticed they weren’t paying attention, because he looked over at the toilet, too.

“Huh? What? What, you see something? Look, I’m telling you, I can dig through this floor in a heartbeat.” He suddenly went gloomy. “Oh, what, were you at nationals? Listen, Ralph ‘The Ditchdigger’ Lombego might be good, but I’m just as good. I just had a bad day. Lots of stomach problems I don’t want to talk about. But I can do this, trust me. I can do this. Let me at it.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...hey guys. Long time no see. It's been about... *checks watch* a year. Damn. 
> 
> Well, I got some inspiration for this. And someone commented saying they really liked it. So here is chapter three! I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it was worth the wait! 
> 
> I can't promise the next chapter won't take as long though. Sorry.

Yip looked away from the light, sure it was a trick of the light or something. They signed for him to dig, and he yelled in excitement.

"Yes! This'll be perfect! And I'll get through this in no time because I've got--" he reached over his shoulder and pulled a hammer out from the back of his shirt. He looked at it confused, and Yip wondered where it came from. "No, I've got--" he reached back over his shoulder and pulled out a power drill, grunting in pain as he did. He frowned at it as he pressed the trigger of it, and threw it to the side. "Oh, no. I've got--" he made grunts and groans as he reached into teh back of his hair and pulled out a spoon, along with a chunk of his hair. "I've got this. All right, head's up."

He placed the spoon on the floor and then threw it over his shoulder, like he was actually digging dirt. Somehow, though, a huge pile of dirt was thrown into the wall, and when Yip looked back the entire tunnel had been dug.

(They remembered this, they think. But the more they think the more they forget.)

"_Bon appétit._" He stood up, and Yip did the same. "It's not so bad for being a few years out of practice. Geronimo!"

He crossed his arms over his chest and jumped into the hole. Yip followed him, and not even a second later they emerged in the warden's office, both of them covered in dirt. Mark put a finger to his mouth, motioning for Yip to stay quiet. He snuck over to where they had seen the box earlier, but it wasn't in the cabinet. Instead, it was in Mr Murder-Slaughter's hands, the man seemingly asleep with a look of rage on his face, snoring loudly. It was a strange time for him to be sleeping, though, since the sun was clearly shining through the window.

(Strange, they thought. They were sure it had been night before. Or maybe they were just losing track of time.)

Mark pointed at the box, mouthing for them to take it. Carefully, they reached over and took it from the warden's hands, replacing it with one of the stuffed dogs that laid around the office. Almost immediately, Mr Murder-Slaughter somehow tore the dog up, fluff going everywhere, but stayed asleep. Yip and Mark went back through the tunnel and back into their cell.

"Ah, okay," Mark said as they climbed out of the hole. "Well, that was... weird. But we've got the box," he said, holding up the box.

(They swore they were holding it earlier.)

Mark looked at the box. "I missed you." He placed a small kiss on it. "Now, the only question is should we open it now or should we wait until we break out? I mean, it could help us escape, but I've also got a backup plan that's fool proof, a sure thing." He clicked his tongue and gave them a fingergun. "Anyway, I could understand if the curiosity was eating away at you, though. It's so tantalising. What's inside? And we both know the potential of the power hidden inside this box here, just waiting to be unleashed. I don't know, what do you think? Temptation's killing me."

The grin on Mark's face told Yip that he was be extremely disappointed if they didn't open the box right there and then, so she signed: _What's in the box?_

The grin widened. "I was hoping you'd say that. You are going to love this, because this is a real, live, honest-to-goodness magical fairy trapped in a crystal bottle," he said, opening the box and pulling out a chain. On the end of it there was a container holding a blue fairy inside (though Yip was sure it was going to be purple). "Probably the last of its kind. Hey, there, little one. Now, as you probably know from history class, these things were hunted to near extinction after the war for their healing properties.

"But what your teacher didn't tell you is that they can do so much more than just heal," he said, handing it to Yip. They marvelled at how it shined so brightly. "Oh, yeah. They can grant wishes. They can teach you to fly. They can do your math homework. They can--"

"_Hello_," the fairy said, its voice high-pitched and squeaky. "_Listen--_"

"Is that a real, live fairy I hear?" one of the other prisoners asked.

The fairy seemed startled as Mark tried to get it to be quiet. "_What?_"

"You means the kind of fairy what which they teach about in history class?" another man asked the first one.

A third man joined in. "I thought they all went extinct after the war. It seems that mayhaps miracles do come true after all."

Yip's face paled as one of the guards slowly walked in font of the bars. Yip tried to warn Mark, who was trying to keep the fairy from talking, but she couldn't speak and it was too late.

"_Watch out_," the fairy told them.

Mark looked behind him, and the guard grinned, wacking his baton against his palm.

"_Hello_."

Suddenly Yip was in solitary confinement, the guard that gave them and Mark jobs in the kitchen looking through the thin window, laughing maniacally. Yip tried to move, but their arms were in a straight-jacket, and they started to panic. How did they get there? They were just in their cell with Mark.

It didn't make any sense!

They pulled at the straight-jacket, wanting their arms free. They hated not being able to move, made them feel like they were trapped (they were, but that wasn't the point).

They tugged again, and they fell, and their hands were pressing against cool metal and tiny shards of glass. They looked down at their free hands, and looked over at Mark, now back in his heist clothes and out of the prison uniform. It was dark outside, when it had been day in the warden's office, and they didn't have the straight-jacket on.

Mark was looking at them weirdly. "Are you okay?"

They started signing, about to tell him about the straight-jacket, but then--what straight-jacket? Why would they be in a straight-jacket? Were they arrested? No, they hadn't even done the heist yet. Why would they be arrested for something they hadn't done yet?

They signed that they were fine, and Mark nodded. "As long as you're okay. You know the plan, right?" He let out a single chuckle. "What am I saying? You practically wrote it."

* * *

"We could either go through the sewers all sneaky like, or we could go out guns blazing," Mark said, pulling a flintlock pistol and a lit bomb out of his bag, he and Yip standing in the middle of the vault. "Yeah, I found these bad boys in the pirate exhibit on the way over here, but we gotta choose fast. I think they're on their way, and they're not gonna be friendly when we're in here with the box and the bomb and the gun. So, either one's good. Sewer will probably work all quiet like, but, you know, I like a little action. But stealth is good, too."

Mark pouted when they pointed at the sewer grate, gesturing the flintlock pistol for a second before dropping it. You're no fun. But you might be smart." He placed the lit bomb back in his bag. "If we take the sewer route we might as well be as quiet as humanly--" he bent down and pulled off the sewer grate, grunting and groaning loudly as the loud squeal of metal-on-metal filled the large empty room. "--as humanly possible." He set down the sewer grate and glared at Yip, though they knew he didn't mean it. "Thanks for the help. After me."

He jumped into the hole, a splash sounding as he landed. Yip climbed down, night turning into day as light filtered in from somewhere. Yip turned to Mark, who was wiping sewer gunk off his face, and they suppressed a chuckle. He told them to shut up and follow him.

"I think we're on the right path," he said, leading the way. He pulled the map out of his bag. "And if I know my plan correctly, and I, uh--" he frowned at the map that was now a pile of mush, "that's all right. That's okay, because I have an impeccable sense of direction. And I know exactly--"

"Hey, over here!" one of the guards shouted. The two of them looked to the top of a staircase that probably led into the museum, though Yip couldn't figure out why (it was like they weren't near the museum at all, but that didn't make sense). "I think they went into the sewer."

Mark threw himself into a barrel of liquid face-first as the two guards came down the stairs, and Yip found themselves a hiding place between the barrels.

"Yo, man, I said it. I told them when they built it," the second guard said. "Putting a sewer entrance underneath what is supposed to be the most secure vault in the museum is just grossly irresponsible. You know?"

"Yeah, I mean, I agree with you, but they don't really pay us to think," the first guard said, shining his torch around the area. "But, regardless, they gotta be around here somewhere."

The second guard nodded. "You're right. You know what? You're right. But we need to split up," he waved his gun around, "cover more ground."

"That's a great idea," the first guard said, shoving the other one with his gun. "I love that idea."

The second guard chuffed. "No, you--you're the one who usually has the great ideas."

"No, no, my ideas suck. You have the best ideas every time. Every time."

"Come on."

"No, you always have the greatest ideas."

They looked at each other silent for a couple seconds before they turned their backs to each other and started searching. Yip waited until they were both gone to get out of their hiding spot.

Mark came out of the barrel, covered in water and seaweed, gasping for breath. His beanie was covering his eyes so he couldn't see. "Oh God!" He climbed out of the barrel, falling onto the floor. He groaned in pain. He pulled the beanie up from his eyes and stared up at Yip. "Next time, you get the barrel." He stood up, the seaweed still covering him. "Okay, all right. Let's keep moving. He started down the passageway the second guard searched down. "The sewers have to drain somewhere, so all we gotta do is follow the stream until we find the exit. It's that easy."

They turned a corner into darkness, and Yip could hear Mark telling them to keep following him. After a couple second they emerged into the light, in what looked like a completely different section.

"Oh God, a sewer," Mark grumbled. He looked back at Yip and glared. "Why'd you have to pick a sewer, huh? There's nothing good about a sewer. It's dark. It's dirty. It's damp. Ugh. Oh, well, well, well. Looks like our luck might be changing. I think the tunnel splits off two different ways down here," he said, shining his flashlight down the tunnel in front of them. "So, Yip--what?"

Yip heard the security guard screaming, and she went to dive for the pile of garbage bags that was sitting next to them. Mark grabbed their arm, pulling them away from it, and dived into it himself. They hid around the corner, hoping the guard didn't come down that way and spot them. The guard ran through the T-section, looking over his shoulder at whatever was chasing him.

Yip looked over at Mark as he climbed out of the trash, brushing off the garbage and the bugs, glaring at Yip playfully. "You wanted me to do that, didn't you?"

They put their hands up in surrender.

"Well, could you hand me that rag behind you?" he pointed behind them.

They turned around, grabbed the rag that hadn't been there earlier, and turned back around to see Mark wiping at his brow with the rag that was no longer in their hand, dressed in a very nice grey suit with his hair done immaculately. "Thanks, buddy. All right." He threw the rag away and started down the tunnel. "Now, whatever that guy was running from, I'm sure it couldn't have been that bad."

He was interrupted by growling and the security guard's screams, and the sounds of flesh being ripped apart. Yip almost threw up, and Mark looked like he was going to faint in terror.

"Uh, or, uh, at least it didn't sound that _close_. So, um, let's just keep moving." They reached the end of the passage, and Mark looked down each side of the T-section. "And it looks like we've got two choices in front of us. The dark tunnel that the security guard just ran down from and then screamed and then died in, or the light tunnel where there's possibly an end to it where it might drain to an escape so we can be scot-free and enjoy our loot. Well, which is it gonna be? Both are good options. Take your pick. You haven't steered me wrong... yet."


End file.
